


blinded with science

by ichidou



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Pegging, Robot Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichidou/pseuds/ichidou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows she's not Allison, but the Director has always had trouble remembering that when it comes to Agent Texas, especially when she slams him down against his desk before he can protest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blinded with science

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneapocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/gifts).



> For all that their relationship fascinates me, I'd never actually written it out. This was my attempt at exploring just how fucked up they are. With thanks to Sabrina for the beta.

He knows she’s not Allison.

With Allison, it was never about fucking -- it was about digging into flesh with razor-sharp teeth, biting into the crook of his neck as she dug nailmarks into his chest, always just shy of drawing blood unless she was in the taste for it. It was about owning him in every sense of the word, of making him _bend_ to her and take whatever she offered, just for the promise of another brush of her soldier-rough fingers over his scientist-smooth skin, and he’d loved every minute of it. For all their differences -- for all the ways that brought them to this, yet another argument turned into the slam of her hips into his, she’d still give him a roll of those gorgeous green eyes afterwards and tell him what a fucking moron he was for leaving his papers strewn all over their apartment, _again_.

(And it was okay, because he had her, and no matter how annoyed he’d been at the moment, he’d never, ever understood how much those stupid arguments meant until it was far too late.)

With Allison, there had been something there -- something intangible, no matter what bruises she left on his hips, no matter how badly their place would get trashed after a fight, and no matter if they both found it difficult to put what it _was_ they had into soft, _emotional_ words instead of snarled curses. There was always later to figure it all out: when things settled down, when he wasn’t swamped with post-graduate work and she wasn’t being called away for one maneuver or another. There had just been the quiet, when things were calm, when she’d steal all the covers and leave him freezing save for the warmth of the cat curled up against his stomach.

(And he knows it was love, but he hadn’t known what love _was_ until it was gone.)

But Texas isn’t Allison.

She has her voice, the easy gait of her steps, each one strong and sure and unfaltering, the speed of her punches (and a hundredfold on top of that, because _she_ won’t fail, _she_ won’t get hurt, she’ll be _safe_ ), the same dry sarcasm dripping from every word, and she’s _close_ , but not quite.

Church has learned to make do.

Texas doesn’t tear at him the same way Allison did-- instead of breaking his arm she could crush his bones if she pushed too hard, but the echoes of her are so strong that he doesn’t care. He bends for her just as easily as he ever did to Allison, and if he breaks-- well. At least it’ll have been worth it.

Texas is no gentler than Allison ever was, not that he’s wanted anything different, but it’s been a long time since he’s been shoved over his desk as a gloved hand works his belt open, fingers curling over his shaft through his underwear, and his knees aren’t what they used to be. She’s laughing, though, that metallic chuckle that’s so goddamn _close_ to what he remembers that the pain slips out of his mind entirely.

“Can’t believe you still wear the same stupid fucking tighty-whiteys,” she sneers, just like she used to, and he loves her for it all the more. “What are you, twelve?” 

It’s downright effortless for her to push them down far enough to curl her hand around the base of his cock and work her way back up, holding a shade too tight for comfort, but this isn’t about comfort. It’s about giving himself up to her, about letting her take what she wants from him, and it’s been so fucking long that he can’t even think about fighting back anyway.

There’s nothing kind about her touch, not when she’s tearing at the seams of his shirt to force it up his chest, and he almost expects her to drag him up by the collar and bite at his lips, leave him bleeding and arching beneath her. Only there’s nothing but his own reflection in the empty visor-- even if she moves her helmet the same way, like she’s tossing her hair back over her shoulder, the metal plates on her too-flat chest are still cold when he reaches up for her.

She says nothing, hand sliding over his cock again, but Allison had always been good at interpreting his silence, and Texas is no different. She hauls him up just long enough to shove him back down over the desk face-first, and when he feels her pulling his belt free from his pants he’s not all that surprised to hear the click of the buckle as she winds it around his wrists.

Texas doesn’t know what she is, not exactly, not the way he wishes she did, but it’s the fact that these flickers come through -- that he can _feel_ the weight of her moving against his skin instead of memory -- that she’s close enough, like this. Allison’s there in the way she presses against him, coarse fingers skimming over his sides as she pushes his pants down over his hips and pinches the curve of his ass.

“Do you even go _outside?_ ” Texas snorts, and he knows she’s looking at him with the same little roll of her eyes as Allison when she’d come home to find him not having moved an inch since she left in the morning, buried in stacks of old-fashioned printouts and more datapads than she could ever count, empty coffee mugs filling the sink. His skin is even lighter now, after so long in space, even more so than hers ever was, and the thought makes him bite his lip.

But she’s moving again, dragging her fingers up his spine, and even if she doesn’t have teeth or nails she can still leave all the bruises she likes, peppering his skin with little pinches and twists of her fingers, just enough to make him let out a gasp every now and then. Every little jolt of pain, however slight, sends another spike of heat through him, and just as he thinks back to the way things used to be she curls an arm around his waist and drags him up against her, the cold metal of her codpiece pressing right against his ass. Church jerks away out of pure reflex, but there’s no mistaking the way his cock strains against her hand, and she doesn’t need a face for him to see the mocking look in her eyes.

“God, you’ve always been such a kinky little son of a bitch,” she says, closing her hand around him a little more tightly, and though it makes him wince he bucks against her grip all the same. “You even notice you’re not whining this time? You used to whine all the fucking time, like you hadn’t been begging me to bend you over all afternoon.” Texas laughs, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound as her hand slides up his cock, rolling her palm over the precome beading at the tip. “Come on, Leonard, aren’tcha gonna beg me to fuck you?”

“Allison,” he chokes out, and _god_ her name tastes so sweet on his lips that it doesn’t matter at all that there’s no warmth beneath the metal, that she’s nothing but a ghost in the machine. She’s _here_ , and she knows every inch of him as well as he knows the lines of code that make her up.

“That was shit,” Texas says flatly, and he swears he can hear her sniff and toss back her hair as she reaches down to remove her codpiece, the metal plate forgotten to the side. She lets go of his cock, sliding her hands back around to palm his ass, and she gives him a little slap, shoving him harder onto the desk. “You know how this works. You beg like a sissy, and _maybe_ I won’t leave you here with a nice pair of blue balls.”

He knows how he would have responded, once -- he would have bitched right back at her, would have struggled against the restraints she’d tied around his wrists, would have argued with her all the way until she’d fuck him just to get him to _shut the fuck up_ \-- but he’s not that man anymore, and she’s not the woman he remembers, either. She’s not his lover, she’s just his creation, and she’d release him with nothing more than a command, a series of parameters, a dismissal--

But he doesn’t want that. He wants her.

“Please, Allison,” he murmurs, and she laughs.

She doesn’t bother warming the lube; it’s not like she has any flesh to press against his anyway. She uses enough to soothe the roughness of her gloves, that she’s moving slowly, because it’s been a long, long time since they’d (since _he’d_ ) done this, and it’s more uncomfortable than not, at first. He misses the way she used to snarl kisses along his back, leaving teethmarks in every place that no one would see but that he’d feel in the long hours he’d spend at his desk, later.

But she makes up for it in the maddening touches she traces across his skin, over the curve of his ass, never, ever as much as he wants, and in the murmurs that spill from her lips, biting reminders of just what he’s gotten himself into, and how he hasn’t even _protested_.

“You knew you’d love this, you sick son of a bitch. Yeah, that’s right, you don’t even have one of your dumb one-liners, do you? God, and I didn’t even have to gag you this time.” Texas laughs, working two fingers inside him, and Church arches so sharply against the desk as she pushes in further that he nearly knocks off the datapads stacked to the side. “Mm, yeah. Right there, huh? You always were such a _girl_.”

His hands curl into tight fists, knuckles going white as she drives another gloved finger inside him, working him open with such ease that it makes his stiff knees wobble all over again. She _knows_ him, knows just how to touch him, how to make him gasp and writhe beneath her, and the memory’s so strong that he swears her nails are gripping his hip, digging in and leaving marks to smear kisses over later.

There’s another click from behind him, and honestly, Church doesn’t know _where_ she found a dildo that hooks right into her armor, but he can’t even dwell on it for long. It’s slick, when she presses it against him, but she doesn’t move an inch, one hand firmly on his back to hold him in place as she shoves his knees further apart.

“Allison-- Allison, just--”

“Just _what?_ ” she asks, and he can _hear_ the grin spread across her lips, bright teeth shining down at him. The dildo pushes against him again, and for all he tries to drive his hips back towards hers she keeps him well out of reach, curling a hand in his hair to pull him up from the desk. “You think that little _please_ is gonna do it? Come on, Leonard, _say it_ \--”

It doesn’t matter that she’s holding him too tight, that there’s nothing but the sound of metal gnashing metal behind him, that the voice he loves so goddamn much is filtered through a pair of speakers -- it’s _her_ , and she’s all he’s ever wanted.

“ _Goddammit_ , Allison, just shut up and _fuck me_ \--”

She lets out a hiss as she moves forward, smothered by the groan that escapes his lips. Iit’s a strain, after so long, maybe more than he was expecting, but the weight of her body against his is enough to mitigate what pain there is. Church screws his eyes shut, because he doesn’t need to see this -- all he has to do is _feel_ , and it’s as easy as breathing to sink into the memories and let her claim him for her own, burying herself inside him with every firm push of her hips. He can see the look on her face, that catlike smirk twisting her cherry-red lips, and he _knows_ she’s going to leave bruises on his hips from how hard she’s gripping him, but it doesn’t mattter.

None of it matters, because she’s real, and she’s _here_ , and he can lose himself in the hazy static of pleasure, in the sharp throbbing of the cock aching between his legs, in the little noises of pleasure she lets out as she makes him _hers_ all over again, and it’s like he’d never lost her at all.

And yet--

“ _Ah--!_ ”

Texas laughs, and she snaps her hips against his again, just so, just to make him jerk against her, and her hand curls around his waist, yanking him up against her as her hand closes over his cock. She doesn’t let up, fucking him good and deep with every hard thrust, and every last one of them is _just_ right, _just_ enough to make him cry out, enough that there’s a certain smug pleasure in her voice. “Yeah, that’s it, c’mon, dumbass, you really think I’d _forget?_ I _know_ you.”

And Church realizes she’s right.

For all that Allison had been to him -- for all that she’s remained a paragon of virtue in his mind, all her failings made into the sweetest quirks he’d ever known, it hadn’t been like _this_. She’d been good, she’d been _amazing_ , but she’d never reached the height of perfection the way Texas has, the way she _embodies_ it. Allison couldn’t hold him _just_ right, couldn’t support him with _just_ enough strength, couldn’t calculate the exact pace, the exact force, the exact goddamn _angle_ to make every thrust make him feel as if he’s being ripped to shreds-- but Texas can, and she _is_.

She’s everything he wanted her to be, an unstoppable force on the battlefield and an immovable object to everything else, never letting anyone get the best of her, not ever, but she’s not _Allison_ , and she never will be.

She pushes him down again, tugging the belt free so she can pin him spread-eagled against the desk, gloves holding tight to his aching wrists, and he knows she won’t stop -- she’ll do what she came here for, she’ll finish things off, and Church bites his lip so hard he tastes blood as he comes just to muffle the sound.

She does up his pants, afterward.

She straightens his clothes with such robotic efficiency that it makes him bite back anything he might like to say, any of the usual endearments he’d usually bestow on her just for the sharp roll of her eyes, but Texas doesn’t have any. There’s no smile, no glint of teeth, nothing but the empty visor and the little snort that escapes her voice filters as she draws back, setting her codpiece to rights.

“There. Told you you needed a good fucking. You gonna stop whining now?”

Church looks at her, and this time, all he sees is his reflection in the visor, every last one of his mistakes staring back at him, and he closes his hands into fists just to keep them from shaking. (It’s not from uncertainty. He’s just getting old.)

 _she’s not allison_.

But he wishes she was.

“That will be all, Agent Texas,” Church says, and if there’s a certain rawness to his voice, if the words aren’t as smooth as usual, she doesn’t comment on it. She simply nods and rolls her shoulders, making no move to pick up the dildo on the desk, and moves for the door with the same sure steps she’s always had.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll see how long you last before you come begging for more.”

The door slides shut behind him, and Church sinks back into his chair with weary limbs, glasses slipping down his nose. He should have known. He should have _known_ that she’d have the memories he’d held so close, that they’d bleed through her code and come to the forefront, that one day, she’d have no choice but to see it play out for herself.

And Church had always been too weak to stop her from taking exactly what she wanted.

He wipes his hand down his face one more time, smooths his hair back, and there’s nothing he can do about the mess of his clothes, not without going back to change, but there are more pressing matters. He reaches forward, fingers sliding against holographic panels, and it’s only a moment before the Counselor’s voice filters through the speakers.

“Do you need something, sir?”

“Yes,” Church replies, voice still rough but more sure, this time. “Have Agent Texas report to the labs immediately. I need to alter her code.”

“Sir, I thought the process had become too dangerous--”

“Did I _ask_ for your _opinion_ , Counselor? _Do it!_ ”

“Of course, sir.”

 

By the time he gets there, Texas is already in the chair, all programs set into maintenance mode and lying so still that there’s no question of what she is. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight back against the bindings the way Allison would, she simply lies back and takes the commands he programs into her, wiping the slate clean all over again.

(And he knows Omega is back there laughing at him, because really isn’t it just fucking typical that he’d torture himself with her even like this and didn’t he learn his lesson with Alpha a thousand times over?)

_just how much do you hate yourself, leonard?_

“We’re ready, sir.”

“Good. Run the program, Counselor.”

If only he could forget so easily.


End file.
